


A Nicer Man

by MayGlenn



Series: May's February Ficlet Challenge 2021 [6]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Ancestors, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exposition, Gen, Period-Typical Racism, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29290218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: Maria was surprised when Sanders took her up on her offer to visit the Wild Pony.“It’s Free Drinks Tuesday,” she had told him on his office voicemail, hoping Guerin wouldn’t be the one to check it first, “for anyone who wants to talk to me about Roy Bronson.”
Relationships: Maria DeLuca & Walt Sanders
Series: May's February Ficlet Challenge 2021 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141298
Comments: 16
Kudos: 22
Collections: February Ficlet Challenge 2021: Apocalypse No





	A Nicer Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/gifts).



The papers called it an “act of God.” Of course they would. A Black man was the only person who was actually reported dead at the Long farm fire of 1948. And Maria wanted more information than that. 

Maria had been with Isobel and Michael talking to Old Man Sanders a few times, to hear about their ancestors, to hear his side of things. Conversation had skewed towards, admittedly, the more interesting characters, the literal aliens. Walt remembered dancing with Miss Nora and singing with Miss Louise, and those being the happiest days of his life. He remembered less the things Michael wanted to know: where they came from, what Nora was building, what they were running from when they crashed. And Walt knew nothing about how Max fit into all of this. 

So Maria was surprised when Sanders took her up on her offer to visit the Wild Pony. 

“It’s Free Drinks Tuesday,” she had told him on his office voicemail, hoping Guerin wouldn’t be the one to check it first, “for anyone who wants to talk to me about Roy Bronson.” 

In lieu of money, he had brought in a plate of ten tacos from the food truck outside. 

“You didn’t have to bring tacos,” Maria said. 

“I’m eating all these,” Sanders said in his gruff way, like he wasn’t going to share. 

Maria shook her head at him. There was something she really loved about grumpy old guys, and Sanders was, like, peak. “Guess you’re drinking Coors.”

Sanders sighed dramatically. “Okay, I’ll trade a taco for something decent.”

“Four of those tacos and I’ve got a keg of the Bosque Scotia I need to empty on someone,” Maria negotiated. 

Walt didn’t agree aloud, but he moved the tacos carefully onto an extra tray he had obviously brought for her, and she smiled and slid him a beer and an iced water. 

“You know, people don’t usually invite me anywhere,” he said, after a minute of thoughtful chewing and sipping. “Not...ever.” 

“Well, you’re always welcome here, Mr. Sanders—” 

“Walt.” 

“Walt,” Maria repeated. She didn’t think Sanders let Michael or Isobel call him Walt. “You’re always welcome. But if you need a special invitation, I’m happy to reach out.” 

Walt nodded and was quiet for a minute, contemplating his tacos and his beer as Maria cleaned glasses. “Roy invited me, you know. Not that I needed much inviting, then. I wasn’t a shy kid or nothin’. Just, didn’t have much of a home to speak of. And Roy Bronson always invited me. If he had extra grub or an extra bed. Eventually he didn’t need to invite me and I just came.” 

Maria’s throat was tight, but she nodded. She moved the stool she kept behind the bar down to his corner so she could sit. “He sounds like a good man.” 

Walt fixed her with his one eye. “Not just good. Kind. He was _sweet_ to me, you know? No man I knew acted like him, especially in those days. I remember he’d play with me, and, ah, tell me he was proud of me. Stuff I never got from my old man, or anyone. Stuff he never got, neither, I guess.”

Sanders was clearly getting emotional talking about this, and he gulped at his beer. It gave Maria a chance to take a sip of her own drink, to force herself to swallow to keep from crying. She was working until close, and didn’t want to ruin her makeup.

“It was a one in a million chance that Miss Nora and Miss Louise ended up knocking on his door that night. Couldn’t’ve been saved by a nicer man. Wouldn’ta, I bet.”

Maria nodded in agreement. “My mom always tells me to think of the badass DeLuca women who came before me. I hardly ever think about the men.” 

“I mean, Mr. Bronson weren’t no ‘badass,’” Walt chuckled. “He was a...gentle man. Strong enough, physically, but not a fighter. He had that gun, but he couldn’t even shoot a coyote. He’d just fire to scare ‘em off.” 

Maria was angry enough on behalf of all her ancestors at the thought of such a gentle man murdered by the Air Force or Project Shepherd or whoever, without even a fight. She wondered how much of that gentleness had gone down to her, and she didn’t think much had, sadly. She had more in common with the alien called Louise, with Isobel’s mother, than she did with Roy Bronson, except for the color of her skin. “That’s...sweet,” she managed, and then had to go wait on a quiet table in the back. 

“Miss Nora and Miss Louise were nice to me, too, don’t get me wrong,” Walt said, when she returned. “But Roy cared _for_ people. Thought about what they needed, and got it to them, if he could. Practical. A lot like you.” 

Maria wanted to cry, but laughed instead. “You’re just saying that because I’m refilling your beer.”

“I just told you, Maria. Kind. Even to people who don’t deserve it. There’s a lot of you in him.” 

She nodded that time, not wanting him to stop. Just wanting to believe this. Walt reached across the bar and patted her hand.

“He knew what it was like to be afraid, all his life, and instead of lashing out, he did everything he could to make sure no one around him was ever afraid, I think.” Walt was old-man crying now, too old and too tired to keep up with the machismo of his youth. “I wish I’d been able to learn more from him, but I learned that. And I see it in you, Miss DeLuca.” 

“Walt,” Maria said, laying her hand over his. “Call me Maria.” 

“Okay, Maria.” 

She sniffed, wiping at her eyes, and cast desperately for a joke. “I don’t know if I believe what you see in me. You’ve only got the one eye.” 

“Maybe I got a third eye,” he responded, and they both wiped their eyes and laughed. “You’re into that stuff, yeah?”

“Oh, sure, next you’re going to tell me you were at Woodstock or something,” Maria said instead of answering. 

“Anyone who was actually at Woodstock was too high to remember Woodstock,” he said with confidence. 

“ _Walt_! Tell me about Woodstock!”

“I can’t. I was _high_!” 

**Author's Note:**

> Seventh in the February Ficlet Challenge of 2021. The prompt was "Act of God."


End file.
